(or maybe you’ve never had the pleasure)
I was in my early 40’s and it was at the liquor store.
There was a line up and the barely legal, skinny young man at the cash register was probably only on his second day of work. So he was doing everything by the book and asking all of the young people in front of me for their ID.
When it came to my turn, I chuckled and said;
so you probably want to see my ID
And he said;
No ma’am, that’s okay
What? My eyes flew open wide and I just looked at him in shock. He didn’t crack a smile; nothing; he wasn’t joking. I was dumbfounded as he just continued to ring up my bottle of wine.
Did he just call me ma’am?
Okay, I was joking. I knew that I didn’t look like a teenager but did I really look like a ma’am!
The very word felt like a slap across my face. It stung. I was devastated!
This pimply faced kid that doesn’t even own a razor yet had no idea of the impact of what he just said.
The guy behind me did. He heard it and just shook his head and rolled his eyes. Oh yes, I could tell that he had made this same mistake at least once.
I was too shocked to even say anything. I wanted to grab him by the shirt collar, shake him and scream;
Hey you little pip-squeak! The reference you are looking for is “Miss”. I AM A F . . . ING LONG WAY AWAY FROM BEING A MA’AM! In fact, you’d be smart to not ever call any woman ma’am unless they have a full head of gray hair and a cane. And even then, I wouldn’t do it if I were you. Chances are you’ll get hit with the cane!
But I didn’t. I just sheepishly took my wine, went home and drank it in the dark.
Image courtesy of farconville at FreeDigitalPhotos.net